Translator: Helena Bowen Reviewer: jackson leo
I'm here to recite three of my poems for you,
but I'm also here to talk about lines.
Not the lines that we write, but the lines that we say to each other
and the invisible barrier that those words create.
But first, let's talk about dumpsters.
(Laughter)
So one day, it's about ten years ago,
I looked out my window and I saw a man who was homeless
digging through one of those big blue rolling dumpsters.
So I went out and offered him a sandwich,
and he looked at me with his sunburned face
and said a profound line I'll never forget,
"Thanks lady!"
(Laughter)
It was the first time in my life anyone had ever called me lady
(Laughter)
and it was weird.
(Laughter)
So years later, I was thinking of that children's film, Lady and the Tramp.
The one about cartoon dogs from different socioeconomic backgrounds.
(Laughter)
You know, I recalled the beautifully illustrated street scenes in that film
and I thought of the title Lady,
and I remembered the man who had first called me Lady
and I became saddened by our definitions.
I was saddened by that invisible line
between what we can have and what we can't,
who we are, and who we are not.
So I wrote this poem about it.
It's called, "Hey Lady, Thanks Lady."
Pretty, inner city, pink and evergreen
With the click clack, lip smack filling up the street
I noticed in a moment that the beauty ‘round me
Was as fleeting as aromas of pine and evergreen
Evergreen won’t grow along my bow
I’m laden with the spruces and I’m the last to know
The needles are a-scratching and a-sticking into me
That there is glory in the land that I’ll never get to see
I am all I’ll ever get, I am all I’ll ever be
Never be another woman Boulevards I’ll never see
Ribbons in their hair designed to under-wear
With velvet leather whiplash who is there to care?
The purses, pouches, and pooches all to show
That I am laden with the punches and I’m the last to know
I forgot about the grooming but it’s beauty all the same
and while they’re scraping at their follicles I’m picking out a name
I am all I’ll ever get, I am all I’ll ever be
Never be another woman Boulevards I’ll never see
Television, you’re a vision, I’m wishing I could breathe
the same air as Joan of Arc, the beauty and the beast
I’m brandishing my swords my reflection in the blade
but I’ll never meet a dragon so I never get to slay
The looking glass is of the past All I’ve got is mirrors
I bought at a department store of seven-hundred tiers
I am all I’ll ever get, I am all I’ll ever be
Never be another woman Boulevards I’ll never see
Here I am, is what I am, do what I can to conquer me
a split lip intuition bipedal anomaly
I’m as dubious and onerous and honorable as I can be
one faded little emerald in a gallery of green
I’ve decided I’m outnumbered by the things I want to be
so I’m tucking in my turtle shell and drifting out to sea
I am all I’ll ever get, I am all I’ll ever be
Never be another woman Boulevards I’ll never see
So,
(Applause)
Thank you.
(Applause)
Thank you.
Now you know one of my secrets.
That poem was inspired by a dumpster and a Disney movie.
(Laughter)
For real, one I wasn't even watching, I was just thinking about and I was moved.
People often ask where artists come up with this stuff
because they believe we're separated by some mystical barrier.
But that line between you and creative expression doesn't exist.
You just have to step beyond what you think you are,
beyond what other people have told you you are.
One of my first creative writing teachers
told me that what I was writing wasn't poetry and to change it.
She took a red marker and she drew a line between me and the art I love.
But I kept writing it; I had to.
And I found that practice turns fear into courage every time.
Today poetry is my per diem;
that's also the title of my next poem.
Profound perfume in the smoke of the plume In the ashes between my beliefs
So when did the weather since bow to the breeze?
Concoctions empty and bland without salt
We’re dire in the pantry and it’s all our fault
Weren’t watching the windows weren’t counting the gulls
When the candle then flickered and the bell holler rose
Hooves roared up the main street through town
I watched from a tower since no one let me down
So death came and went leaving me so alive The weather is parted by a rip in the sky
Forever entrenched in the dormant delight
Or so it would seem when the light hits the eyes
For twice I have withered for three then so bold
To pour out what’s given to go looking for gold
The demise of the valley when the flame is then thrown
And the whispers that splinter when we’re left alone
It’s befitting due course to then buckle the knees
No one way to Sunday come twice in one week
Then the thorn in our stomach is churned into rot and
The tune we were born with is the one we forgot
See we write our own stories we make our own beds
But these pillows aren’t fit for our heavy heads
So light up the fires as I like what I see
For whatever is stirring there’s something ancient in me
To forget the leaves twitching at the crest of the peak
When all that we wanted was some rest in our sleep
And duress of days gone and duress of breeze
Done telling the weather just how it should be
The gale in the middle and the blood of the wind
Is rapping on doors, high towers and taverns
Too true to be downcast in the dirt with our sticks
Locking our bets and wringing our hands
We wake up and upright we walk somewhere else
To treasure or torrents but at least we’ll sleep well
(Applause)
If we spent less time categorizing ourselves and each other
then we would live better lives.
We start by paying more attention to what is felt than what is seen.
This takes practice, but it will change your life.
My final poem is about that.
It's called "Home: Hell or High Water."
Will you guard my back?
Will you sing my name?
Will you grip my hand as we release the reins?
Will your yes mean yes
and your no be plain?
Will you walk with me despite terrain?
When the winds blow when the lights go
When the candlesticks have melted and it's arctic in the cosmos
You're my northern star and my eastern sun
You're both firelight and the rain in one
You're a pure white stone and you've cut me through
So keep coming home to me 'cause I'm coming home to you
I have known you well but each day much less
Because your mind is wide and your soul is depth
and no matter what else out there that I may see
I’ll keep coming home to you ‘cause you’re coming home to me
Where we'll cook and drink and smoke
and we'll roar and laugh and snore
and we’ll tell each other things we haven’t told a soul before
and no matter the outrageousness that we find to be true
keep coming home to me ‘cause I’m coming home to you
‘Cause the world’s a filthy place and sometimes I’m muddy too
but it’s also a big garden in which I will bloom for you
and the fragrance of our love will cause the pain to wilt
and the petals of your words will turn my blood to silk
but if our fire fades to ashes
and our garden drowns to blue
Then we’ll chop down all the forests until our fire burns anew
and we’ll bail out all the floods until they’re reduced to dew
Come hell or high water I am coming home to you
So keep coming home to me ‘cause I’m coming home to you
Keep coming home to me ‘cause I’m coming home to you
Where I will guard your back
and I will sing your name
and I will grip your hand as we release the reins
and my yes means yes
and my no is plain
and I will walk with you despite terrain
(Applause)
Thank you.
(Applause)